


Dull

by AcidicPrince



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amnesia, F/F, F/M, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Paralysis, Precious Peter Parker, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Team Iron Man, Team as Family, Team redeems themselves, Temporary Blindness, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, amnesiac!Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidicPrince/pseuds/AcidicPrince
Summary: Tony abruptly realizes that he's not the same person that he once was.He's evolved a thousand times over since the death of his parents and now he's finally ready to face reality.He's ready to reject the person the universe paired him with.He's ready to burn off the mark.Or where Tony is hit with a truth bomb and reinvents himself.





	1. Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this hurt me.

Tony took in a sharp, biting breath.

The cold _hurt._

Everything _hurt._

 

This wasn't the plan.

He was supposed to be here to help. That's what he had told Sam; that he was here as a _friend._ An ally. Though, unfortunately, it quickly came to light that he had no friends here.

 

It was all a trap and he should have known. God, he wishes he had known. He wishes he hadn't been so blind all these years. He wishes he wasn't so thick. So fucking stupid.

 Genius?

All evidence points to the opposite.

Philanthropist?

It was all just his ego.

Playboy?

He hasn't had sex since the start of he and Pepper, and even then, it was strained. There's just been too much on his mind for him to even contemplate sex. They knew they weren't soulmates, their marks weren't even close to a match. But they wanted to try a relationship despite that. Though that obviously hadn't been the best idea. 

 

Realistically, he's just a man with money. His company is now owned by his ex. His godfather, Obadiah, betrayed him on such an enormous scale it killed his ability to trust, and when he finally built up the courage to do that again it all blew up in his face.

 

Steve?

At this point- from Tony's perspective- he was just as bad as Obadiah had been. He gained his trust. Acted like his friend, his _family_ , but in the end, he had left Tony to rot with a shitty arc reactor and bitter tears.

 

This is where he thinks he'll drop. Hard.

He could spiral out of control and loose himself in the alcohol and the tits, but then this- all this progress he's made since Obi- would be for nothing. Though, if you look at it from a different angle has he really made any progress. He may have stopped wasting his nights away in casinos but now he can't even get a good night's sleep.

 

The nightmares, Christ the _nightmares_. They make him wake up screaming and scrambling for someone, anyone. On instinct he thinks of Pepper, but that only makes it worse because then he imagines her falling. Her fingers barely brushing against his as she hurtles towards a wasteland of fire, the heat eating away at his cheeks and eyes. The taste of salt as he holds back the bile that threatens to rise when it hits him that she's probably dead.

 

Then he thinks of Rhodey. Strong powerful James Rhodes, a man who could save Tony from anything and _god,_ he had let him fall. The blast of light that had sliced through the air. Through Rhodey. The fear he must have felt. The _pain_ when he hit the ground.

 

Tony chokes out a frozen breath at the thought.

He needs to stop, just stop thinking.

Jesus, _stop breathing_ if it means the pain- mental and physical- will leave.

 

He flicks open the manual release on both gauntlets and lets out a rough groan when his raw hands are exposed to the piercing cold. He runs them through his hair and for the first-time notices how much he's trembling. Like a damn dog in a storm. Fucking pathetic.

 

He curls his numb fingers into tight fists rooted in his hair and just breathes. It hurts. His chest hiccups, like he's a fucking squeaky toy being squeezed. He doesn't remember anything hurting this much. Which is surprising since he's experienced open heart surgery while conscious. 

Maybe it's because he thought him and Steve had something. Not romantic really, but _something._

 

After a moment he goes to unlatch the forearm armor, then the shoulders, then the legs, until he has nothing left on except the chest plate.

 

He's scared about this bit. Terrified if he's being honest. Maybe before Afghanistan he would have been scared because of his vanity. Who wants to fuck someone with scar tissue as thick as their cock. Now though? Now he's scared of Rogers. His childhood hero. Actually seeing the physical damage Steve caused would just make it all so overwhelming.

 

He's tempted to just leave in on and wait it all out until eventually someone comes to find him. But that could be days, even weeks if Rogers isn't willing to give up the base's location.

 

He sighs, choked and hoarse. Slowly he reaches to take the breastplate off, there's a wet sound as he pulls it free from his chest and with a sore roll of his shoulders he has it held over his head. With his last bit of energy, he tosses it to the side with an echoing clang. He gulps in air as his biceps shake along with his abdomen, probably do to fatigue and pulled muscles.

 

He refuses to look down for a good three minutes, considering whether he really wanted to or not. A burst of will power has him quickly looking only to begin hyperventilating at the sight.

 

It's disgusting _. He's_ disgusting.

 

His chest is a mess. It's mangled and deformed. Right in the center- where the arc reactor used to be- there's a bloody indentation of a circle. A ring carved into his chest from the force of Steve- _his father's_ shield having smashed his suit's reactor through the casing and into his chest.

 

The ring is maybe half an inch deep all the way around, both dark and light blood- along with various colors of puss- leak out, soaking his torso. His breathing is erratic as he traces his own hand around the finger-shaped bruises that encircle the ring perfectly. No doubt from Barnes' metal hand. He can feel his pulse jumping beneath his fingers.

 

He rips his blood-slick hand from himself and shuffles away from the armor when he realizes it's also covered in blood. His or Roger's, he doesn't know. His breathing is starting to sound like whimpers and his eyes are glazing over with involuntary tears. There's nothing he can do. He's going to die here; the world be damned.

 

When the alien's come back, and so help him _they will come back_ , he's not going to be there and at this point he doesn't care. This world, planet Earth, has been nothing but cruel to him. From his birth into an abusive family to now; the hundredth time he's been left for dead.

 

He's done.

 

With an exhausted huff he collapses onto his back, mere feet away from the outside, where the wind is lashing like whips and the snow is so heavy it's making its way inside.

 

He's on his side now, he doesn't remember turning. The Iron Man helmet is staring back at him with empty, dark eyes. He realizes abruptly that Iron Man is a hero. A character he plays so that the people don't hate him. Maybe before- before the Accords, before all this drama- maybe Iron Man meant something else to him. He remembers saying "I am Iron Man." He remembers inadvertently calling himself a hero on live television. He remembers risking his life in New York with the nuke. Why didn't he die there? In the stars. Get cemented in history alongside the constellations with the other heroes.

 

Or is that just it. He isn't a hero. He didn't deserve some martyr-like, self-righteous death. He deserves to die in an old Nazi base after making _himself_ look like the bad guy.

 

He deserves to die with the thought of his childhood hero's betrayal on his mind. With the screams of his mother and the pleading of his father still fresh and overpowering in his thoughts.

 

His eyes are suddenly too dry to let tears escape and his throat fells like razor blades from the cold.

 

The pain is dull.

All these colors are dull.

Tony loses consciousness within the next five minutes.


	2. Found

* * *

Tony awoke with a choked gasp being ripped from his raw throat. His nostrils burned from the cold along with his ears. He only wore the black jeans, thin shirt and leather jacket that he had met with Ross in. They weren’t offering much warmth. 

The Iron Man helmet still sat a few feet away, menacing expression staring back at him. There were a few streaks through the ice though, suggesting it was the probably blow a couple inches by the heavy winds. 

The rest of the armor lay scattered about. A mangled heap of metal and chipped paint.

He understood now why people called it an arrogant piece of art. It was bright. The colors were an obnoxious shade that reflected every glitter of light, eye catchingly vain.

Tony refused to look at it. 

He wasn’t Iron Man. He’d only just realized that. 

He sighed, ragged and worn. 

“Iron Man.” He scoffed and flinched at the sound of his own voice. It sounded as if someone had sliced through his vocal cords. It felt like it too. The grip of an enhanced metal arm could have that effect. 

He wrapped his numb hand around his own throat, fingers finding the curves of the bruises that were obviously there, even if he couldn’t see them. 

His hands were cold. He could tell, but not from touch. They were visibly a dull grey-blue. Everything was dull, the pain, the frozen tips of his fingers, his thoughts. 

He tried clearing his throat. 

Dumb fucking idea. 

The moment he began to exhale blood sprayed from his lips. A scratching cough crawled it’s way through his aching chest and exploded in flecks of red on his lips and the concrete around him. 

“ _Jesus_.” He choked out, words muffled through his gasps. His chest heaved as he held back the vomit and turned back onto his side so he wouldn’t drown in his own blood. 

His writhing and the strain on his lungs must have forced the clotting of the blood on his chest to break and suddenly there was blood everywhere. 

With an exhausted gasp he blacked out. 

 

—

 

Colors faded in and out. Everything around him was blurry and doubled. The flourescent lights above shone like a thousand suns, burning into his retinas.

His hands ached while his wrists felt raw and over heated. After some tugging he realized he was strapped down. To a bed. A hospital bed. 

His vision was still partially gone so he couldn’t make out if he was in the private medical wing of the Stark tower or just any old hospital. That scared him. 

The average civilian, no matter how arrogant and harsh it may sound, was not equipped to deal with him and his deformities.

No one could know either. 

The media, the people, they couldn’t find out what happened in Siberia, or that he went to Sibera at all. That wasn’t what the UN had agreed on. The shitstorm would blow out of control and Rogers’ team would be hunted down, they-

“Tony?” A voice interrupted his scrambling thoughts. It was light and concerned and without a doubt Virginia Potts. 

With a pained groaned he cracked open his eyes again, though they were still unseeing and blurred.

All he could choke out was a broken, ”Pep,” that cracked off at the end. 

When there was no immediate answer he wondered if he had imagined her voice. He couldn’t properly see and moving in any minute way caused his nerves to scream out in panic.

His restless hands gripped the edges of the bed tightly until he heard the plastic creak in warning. With a startled yelp he attempted to pull his arms into his chest when he felt soft, thin fingers land over his. He knew it was a way of comfort but all he could register was _threat_. His foggy eyes scittering frantically around the room but all he saw was white and where the lights were coming from. 

“Oh Tony.” Pepper’s calming voice whispered. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, then with a sigh she moved away. A couple seconds later there was a click to his right, near where the soft beeping sound of his heart monitor came from. 

He listened as the pattern of the beeping slowed and soon he was gone once again. The tension in his arms and shoulders releasing abruptly. 

Pepper whatched quietly at his side, eyes glossy with unshed tears. 

With a sigh she traced the stark white bandages wrapping the majority of his torso, hiccuping out a sob when she felt the indention of where the arc reactor sliced through his old scar tissue. 

Tony’s neck was also covered in thin bandaids that held down ointments. One over each sharp, finger-shaped bruise that littered his skin. His face was stained still, lips and nose dyed pink with blood, goatee matted down and poorly trimmed- most likely due to the man’s chronic trembling. 

“Oh, _Tony_.” 

She took another moment to trace over his side, ribs prominent from starving when he locks himself away in the lab. The edges of his soul mark peek out from the bottom of the bandages, right in the hollow of where his ribs meet. She stares at it for a long time. The color looks more faded then it did the last time she saw it.

A simple blue star.

With a resigned huff she forces herself to look away. He was always sensitive about it.

She stood to call for a nurse and get him a water bottle for when he woke up again, eyes lingering sadly on his broken form.

He was starting to get color back from the warmth of the room but it didn’t seem like nearly enough. He looked frozen. Grey and unmoving.

Then it hit her.

 

_He looked dead._

 

“Rhodey!” She screamed out, shrill and suddenly _angry_. When said man burst through the door with a wild look in his eyes she grabbed his arm and led his wheel chair closer to Tony, setting his hand on the rails that their friend’s hands were cuffed to.

“Stay with him, call for a nurse and don’t let him move his stubborn ass out of that bed.” She bit out and went to stalk out of the room.

Rhodey let out a confused splutter before asking, “Wait, Pepper, what’s going on? Where are you going?”

She didn’t stop to answer him. 

“I realized something, and I’m going to shoot Rogers in the balls for it.” 


	3. Amnesia

“R-Rhodey?” Tony asked quietly when he was able to make out the shape of his friend slumped over the railing next to him. 

All he got in response was a tired huff. 

Tony went to set a hand on the man’s shoulder, planning to shake him awake but with a sudden annoying realization he noticed the cuffs around his wrists, keeping him stuck to the bed. 

Deja vu. 

He remembers waking up before this, remembers noticing the cuffs. Pepper was there. Pepper, right? Or was that a nurse?

”Rhodey?” He whispered again. 

Nothing.

He was starting to panic. What happened? Why was he in the hospital? 

He went to look around but his eyesight was foggy and blotted with spots of white, almost like he’d been looking through chlorine for hours. He could make out the lights around him and-

Deja vu. 

Had this happened before? 

The lights, he remembers thinking about the lights and how bright the white floor and white walls and white snow looked and-

Snow?

How bright the snow was...

In Siberia?

Why had he been in Siberia?

”Rhodey?” He asked quietly once more before becoming frustrated, letting out an louder, “Rhodey!” His voice was shot.  Just talking exhausted him.

With a snort and quick wipe of his hand over his mouth Rhodey was sitting up groggily. Eyes bleary and full of sleep. 

“Hm?” He mumbled quietly in question. "T-Tony. Wait, Tony?" Suddenly there were hands all over his face, squishing his aching cheeks together, checking for consciousness and injuries like the mother hen Rhodey was.

"I- yeah?" He coughed out. Why was he so sore? "What happened? Where are we?"

The other man gave him first a confused look that soon morphed into one of sympathy. "You were in a bit of a coma." He said cautiously.

"Coma...?"

"You- you remember Siberia right? What happened? The Accords? The doctors mentioned you might experience slight memory loss. I don't want to go into detail right now though, this is the first time you've been properly awake and I don't want to ruin it by calling in some nosy doctors."

Tony blinked slowly, suddenly overwhelmed. He wanted to ask more questions about his coma. How long was he out? Rhodey said "properly awake", so he's been awake before. How long has he been waiting at his bed side?

He went to run his hand through his hair to calm his nerves an shaking fingers, only to be reminded he was basically immobile. At first Rhodey just stared at him, waiting for an answer. A few moments later he noticed Tony's predicament and went to unlatch the white leather cuffs circling his wrists.

"Better?" He asked hesitantly as Tony brought a trembling hand up to his own jaw, pushing down slightly on the tender, bruised skin.

"Yeah." He breathed out. He flicked his eyes up to Rhodey's face, doubled and blurred, hard to focus on like the other man was in his peripheral. "I... remember Siberia." He began quietly.

With a sigh of relief Rhodey ran a hand down his face and leaned in closer with interest. From what Tony could make out it looked as though he was smiling. "Thank god. Can you tell me what happened? Where Barnes and Rogers are? King T'Challa?" Suddenly Tony didn't quite know if they were talking about the same thing. Had Steve been in Siberia? Yes. Yeah, he definitely was. It was hard to formulate any coherent sentences, his memory was like a puzzle with all of the center pieces missing.

"I-I-... What?" He asked eloquently. 

"Tony? What do you remember?" Rhodes asked, tone soft as if he were talking to a frightened horse or dog. 

Tony shook his head in exasperation, hands buried in the thin sheets. "I don't-," he coughed hoarsely when he realized he could barely understand himself, "Um, in Siberia there was a fight...?" The statement turned into a question, making his friend cock his head in confusion.

"Don't worry. You can take all the time you need." 

Tony pulled in a deep breath.

He could do this. He could talk, it shouldn't be that hard seeing as babies were able to.

"Okay. In Siberia I went to... I went to see Steve and Barnes. They were- they were trying to help; _I_ wanted to help." He swallowed back a sudden rush of anxiety. "They let me... I think. I saw something. Something about my parents...? Or maybe Jarvis, human Jarvis...? I'm not sure. I just remember thinking abut them." A deep, hitching breath. "Then we got hurt? I got hurt. I don't remember." 

Rhodey continued to look intrigued at him, like he was finally going to get the answers he needed, but when he realized Tony was finished speaking he deflated with a look of disappointment, as if everything Tony had just said was part of a boring essay about World War I.

He sighed, lacing his fingers together and straightening up in his chair.

His _wheelchair._

_How had he not noticed._

"Rhodey."

Said man looked up at him, eyes straying away as he was beginning to become lost in thought. "Yes?" There was an oblivious look on his face, like he hadn't noticed Tony blatantly staring.

He inhaled deeply before stating rather than asking, "Why are you in _a fucking wheelchair?"_ He only noticed how broken and angry his voice sounded after he had bit the words out like a curse. Rhodey getting hurt? That was a red fucking line. Yes, he'd noticed his own bandages, his own aching muscles and throbbing bruises, but even the thought of his best friend injured made him want blood.

Rhodey looked at him with slight confusion before realization dawned on him, almost like he had forgotten all about his disability. He sat up ramrod straight, military background showing through. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, looking as regal and dignified as any Air Force colonel. 

He stared straight into Tony's foggy eyes. "I was shot down."

 _"Shot down?_ In what fucking air craft? What faulty piece of shit did they stuff you in that cost you your mobility?" He asked, scratchy voice rising with each question, he was furious, and he wasn't afraid to show it. 

The other man stared at him, long and hard and analyzing before saying, "You were there, Tony. You honest to god don't remember?"

And didn't that just completely throw him. _"_

 _You think I wouldn't if I had the choice?!"_ He was practically screaming now. He wasn't angry at Rhodey though, he truly didn't know what he was angry at.

Maybe himself. 

Angry with how own mind for not remembering something so incredibly vital.

Rhodey sighed for the hundredth time within the last five minutes, eyes now downcast and far away, readying himself to launch into the story.

"We were fighting. Not you and I. There were two sides. You, some kid, T'Challa, Romanov, Vision and me. Other side was Rogers, Barnes, Wilson, Maximoff, Barton and some giant shape-shifter type guy. We were fighting over the Accords, an act that-"

Tony interjected, "I know what the Accords are, Rhodey, they've been in development for years." He sounded bitter and childish to even his own ears.

With a huff he leaned his head back in the hospital bed, trying to process what had been said so far. "So, two teams. I'm guessing my team was for the Accords and Rogers' was against?" When the other man only nodded silently Tony sighed, gesturing for him to continue. 

"So yeah, two sides, the Accords, a media shit storm, secretary of state on your ass. He wanted you to bring in Steve and his merry men; they didn't want to come willingly. We ambushed them at an airport- don't worry, you took all the precautions and evacuated it beforehand- and we fought. Towards the end Rogers and Barnes jacked a quinjet and started to get away, we couldn't have that. You told Vision to shoot it down while you, Wilson and I were trailing behind it." He took a long moment to pinch the bridge of his nose and run his hands up and down the stiff expanse of his thighs.

"And...?" Tony asked, already knowing where the story was going but he needed to hear it. He needed the reality.

"And...  He missed."

For a few moments only silence occupied the room.

"It hit you."

A nod.

"Through the arc reactor?"

A nod.

"And I- I couldn't catch you?"

A choked sigh.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I make this one sided Steve/Tony, or achingly sad Bucky/Tony?


	4. Guilty

* * *

T’Challa burst through the west wing’s doors, expression almost bordering on murderous. He wore regal black robes with intricate golden stitching, no doubt made entirely out of vibranium. 

The doors slamming into the walls caught everyone’s attention. Steve’s head shot up, suddenly alert; they rarely saw T’Challa.

“What happened in Siberia?” His voice was low and menacing, dark eyes trained on Steve’s face, making him feel like a guilty child even though he wasn’t sure what he had done wrong. 

He stepped foward cautiously, barely able to meet the King’s intimidating gaze, ”We already told you what happened in Siberia.” Sam and Scott were now also standing, ready to defend Steve at a moments notice.

T’Challa shook his head ruefully. “You may have told me a story that took place in Siberia, but to say you told me the whole truth would be almost laughable with the updates on Stark.” 

That’s when Clint stood.

”Stark? He let something leak?”

T’Challa held up his hand, silencing him. “You may want to be careful about what words you let escape your mouth next, Hawk. Speaking of an old friend of mine in such a manor is grounds for expulsion.” 

Clint spluttered, eyes flickering over to Steve briefly for help. 

“Old friend?” Was all he asked cautiously.

”Mm, our fathers happened to be buisness partners when we were children. We saw eachother frequently at galas. I like to think our old dynaminc still exists somewhat,” T’Challa answered, eyes suddenly clouding over. “And because of our relationship in both buisness and pleasure I simply cannot be harboring his near-murderers.” 

Steve choked. 

Murderers?

”What do you mean by that? What are you talking about? How is this suddenly public news?” He said in a frantic burst. What happened to Tony?

The king leveled him with a look of exasperation, “Have you not made any effort to stay up to date with the countless media outlets?” When none of them answered he continued with a look of pure annoyance, “Mr. Stark arrived back in America a month ago.” 

“Yes, and?” Clint asked, not seeing a problem with the statement. 

“He arrived a month ago in a comatose state with a severe concussion that’s been causing flashes of amnesia along with blindness.” He looked expectantly at Steve, as if he wanted him to say something, but he added nothing. He only wore a look of confused grief, not understanding where the story was going.

With a huff and quick roll of his eyes T’Challa said loudly, “He was found in Siberia.” 

Now that caused a reaction.

”But that was two months ago?”

”Why would he go back?” 

“What was he doing.” 

T’Challa rasied his hand, silence immediately falling over the group.

”You are all incredibly thick, are you not? Anthony did not _go back_ to the Siberian bunker, he was _left_ there.” He glanced back at Steve who gaped quietly, still not comprehending. 

“You still do not see it, do you, Captain?” He asked with pity in his voice. 

He truly pitied him. 

His stupidity was astounding. 

 

Steve decided to write Tony an apology that night.

 

—

 

“Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark, you need to wake up now. I need you to open your eyes for me.”

He groaned as he lifted his head, migraine already setting in even though he’d only been awake for a handful of seconds.

”Good. Go slow, no need to strain yourself.” 

It was a nurse, he could tell by the tone. He didn’t want a nurse.

Slowly, Tony cracked open his eyes, blinded once again by the above-head fluorescents. He refused to move anymore than that though, any more motion pulled on his bruised neck too much.

”Ah, isn’t that better?” The nurse asked politey.

”No,” was all he croaked out.

”Would you like more pain killers, Mr. Stark?”

He disregarded her question, squeezing his eyes shut against the light. “I can’t see.”

”Yes, we’re treating your temporary blindness as we speak.” She replied, easy and calm.

”I haven’t been able to see in hours though. Why?” His voice crackled like fire, it was causing his throat to ache.

”Hours?” 

When he didn’t answer she went on. “Mr. Stark, may I ask what you last remember and how long ago that was?” 

He tried to think for a second, suddenly all his memories were doused in fog. He stuttered out a curse.

Amnesia.

The nurse hummed contently, like she had been expecting it. 

“What’s the last thing you ate?” 

“I-... a-...” 

“Take your time sweetheart.” He imagines she’s looking down at him with a pitying smile, condescending really. 

“Well, who’s the last person you saw?” 

Blank. 


End file.
